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Friday, February 20, 2015

In the comfort

A sort of conflict of trust

There’s no combatants

Nothing is for love

Maybe someone is

But as far as the money goes

All of these lessons could be gifts

Tax write off incentives

There I go again,being ecentric

All these poems and I’m rarely inventive

Is like I’m wildly inconsistent

Always incoherent

Some voice to be found

No muse anymore

Maybe besides the rounds

Pop crackle click

Away I go again

Far off ill sail

Between heaven and its spoils of guilt

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